Scared
by Priestess of the Myrmidon
Summary: Oneshot. Lancelot survived the battle on the Hill. He broods as he watches Guinevere and Arthur fall deeper and deeper in love on their wedding night.


Title: Scared

Rating: K+

Summary: Oneshot. Lancelot survived the battle on the Hill. He broods as he watches Guinevere and Arthur fall deeper and deeper in love.

Genre: Angst

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. None of the characters are mine. Not even the plot (if there is one,) really. After all, I didn't make up Lancelot's love for Guinevere 'cause that's been in Arthurian myths forever.

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Of course, he hadn't been interested in the beginning. She had been wounded; a Woad, dirty and he wanted his freedom. But then it grew. And grew. She managed sneak into his heart somehow. He was not sure how it had happened. How he had _allowed _it to happen. But happen it did.

The night she had bathed after her liberation from Marius' dungeon he'd been enthralled with her. He should have looked away. He should have walked away. And he damned well should have closed his heart off from her.

But he'd been captivated with all of her, from how delicate she had looked, despite his knowledge that she was anything but, to how beautiful she was. How bloody _annoying _and bold she was!

Lancelot's face darkened considerably as he clenched his jaw and ground his teeth in an attempt to stay the steadily growing rage and sadness that clutched so fiercely at his heart in a vise grip as he glanced at the happy couple who were dancing and gazing into each other's eyes.

He couldn't bear it any longer; the dark knight was unable to keep the fake smile on his face that he had been wearing for his best friend. If he saw another happy, drunken face celebrating the wedding of his best friend and Guinevere, he was going to kill something. And that was no exaggeration.

He strode away quickly and purposefully in the shadows, intent on escaping the festivities. He stormed to his room, wallowing in his silent fury. With a loud bang, he slammed his door shut.

Alcohol. He needed ale. A lot of it. Spotting a half-empty flagon of ale that stood as if it were just for him, on his table. It was from last night. It beckoned to him, and called to him. He grabbed it, and quickly downed half of its contents.

Lancelot began to pace, not pausing when he took a swig from the flagon. The sound of merrymaking met his ears. _Damn it all to hell! _Would he ever be free? Not likely. In some way or another he was enslaved by somebody or something. Rome… duty. Arthur… friendship. Guinevere… love. He recklessly finished off the ale, and tossed the empty container on his bed. He needed more.

It was also too enclosed in his room. He made a blind grab for his sword. The knight swore as he cut himself; this was not his day. He shrugged half-heartedly to himself, leaving it to bleed, and hurried out of the room. He needed to be outside. Alone.

He knew the whole fort by heart. All the crooks and nannies. All the best places to hide when one did not wish to be found. The man slipped to the forest's edge. Damn it. He could still hear all of the sounds of happiness. It sickened him. It also annoyed him—greatly.

Spotting a tree in the shadows, he climbed to the top slowly, hampered by his sword and the ale he'd imbibed.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Damn it, how could everybody be so bloody _happy_? And they were dancing his way. Bloody hell. He saw Arthur twirl her. He saw Arthur look at her with such love. He saw Guinevere's eyes sparkle. With love and happiness. Something he'd never been able to give a woman. Oh, aye, pleasure, but never love, or at least true love.

Gawain spotted somebody watching from a tree. Instinctively he knew who it was. Lancelot. Silently he walked forward, prowling almost, like the big cat he resembled. So caught up in his misery, Lancelot did not realize Gawain was sitting in the tree next to him until he spoke.

"If you truly love her, you will let her go, Lancelot." Lancelot looked at his brother-in-arms, with a slight sneer on his face. "You are scared," Gawain said. "Scared," he continued, holding up a hand when Lancelot opened his mouth in protest, "of betraying Arthur. You are scared that it will be too much for you, seeing them in love, something you would never have been able to give to her. "

Lancelot's mouth opened and closed. He finally gave up and allowed a tear to fall down his cheek. "Aye," he whispered, "I think I am."

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Well? Should I never write a Lancefic again? Should I change the title? Please review! It'll make my day.

Priestess


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